Hero By Any Other Name
by Lunar Iris
Summary: One day, Alfred's boss makes him curious about the origins of his human name. This curiosity surfaces during a World Meeting in an unexpectedly expected way. Will England explain why he gave gifted America with the name of Alfred the Great? USUKUS. Some OC characters. Kink Meme De-anon. Slightly edited. Rated for language, so far.
1. Chapter 1

So, another de-anon. This fill is finished, but it needs extensive editing. My beta for this first chapter was wt-chan, but she's busy with college right now. So, if anyone wants to give me (and her) a bit of help, I would appreciate it. I don't want to bother her during her studies, but I also want to get this de-anoned-for the sake of. It's ten chapters and about 17,000 words. If any one is willing to take up the task until her schedule calms down, please let me know. I'm not sure if any more of this will ever be de-anoned without a beta, it might just get deleted altogether. I'm not just searching for praise, there are parts of it that I kinda like, but other parts are strange to me now. The plot got away from me, and the fic could use a fresh mind that hasn't become frustrated with it.

There are a few human OC's in here, that serve to help the plot. The president in this fic is not our current one, so he will remain nameless.

I don't own Hetalia.

**Chapter 1**

"Alfred," America's boss murmured, letting the name swirl across his tongue as though savoring a new delicacy. His unusual tone made the young nation to pause in the middle of his tirade about having to share a room during the upcoming World Meeting.

"What's up boss? Everything all right?" America asked, quickly changing tact. "You probably think I'm not too happy about the room assignments. But, I can deal with them. I know the budget's still tight. No worries! I can be a hero and bite the bullet. Just had to vent about it for a bit first. I'm okay with it now, really." He gave the President two thumbs up and his brightest heroic smile.

"That's comforting to know, Alfred." His boss—dwelling on his name again—rested his elbows on the table and released a sigh that had been held in for far too long. He didn't look convincing enough though, as he drew a hand down his face. He clearly had something on his mind.

"Okay, then." Uncomfortable with the vibes he was getting from his boss's pensive tone and amused gaze; who said Alfred couldn't read the atmosphere? The nation squirmed in his seat. "Um, Mr. Pres... uh, Sir, do ya happen to have a room assignment list?" America would have to be the attentive one in their conversation today—so weird. He guessed that he would not be rooming with Canada. "Can you tell me who I'll be staying with in London for all next week? I'd like to be mentally prepared and such."

"Yes, give me a moment, Alfred." The president emphasized his name once more, and he rubbed his thumb and index finger along his chin like The Thinker Statue—smoke might come out of his ears at any moment!

"What's the matter, Mr. President?" America groaned. "I'm not as stupid or oblivious as most people think. You've been in office a year and a half now. At this point, I can kinda tell when you have something on your mind."

"I suppose." He shrugged. "Changing the subject for a moment, then?"

"Okay." America leaned back in the antique wing-back chair.

"I have a question. I've actually been wondering about this since our introduction, and it was brought to my attention again last night." The President sighed. "This morning, too."

"What is it, sir? You can ask me anything." America flashed his hero smile again, and tried to disguise the discomfort he was sure was showing in his eyes. There was a long pause, during which his boss avoided his gaze, shifted in his chair like a child caught asking something he shouldn't. "Go ahead. I'll answer it if I can."

"Your name, America? How did you come by your name?"

"Uh…The founding fathers took the name some German dude used from the name of the Italian dude that discovered the continents over here. Supposedly. I thought they taught that in schools." And who said America didn't know anything about geography? Score one for The Hero. Alfred tried to keep his thoughts triumphant about knowing his own historical knowledge. He was slightly troubled by the fact that his own boss didn't know it.

"No, no Alfred. I know that."

The young nation sighed in relief, but stiffened again upon the realization that his boss's question was more complex. "I'm sorry, Sir. What do you mean, then?"

"Your name, Alfred. " The man paused. "I meant your human name."

"What about my human name?"

"I suppose, I'm just wondering who gave it to you. Why 'Alfred'? It's not a very American name, is it?"

America's mouth gaped open and released a squeaky gasp. He took a deep breath in an attempt to stay calm. He couldn't very well tell off his boss, could he? A boss was a boss…but telling America that his name wasn't 'very American' just set his mind in a tailspin. "What the hell?! What do you mean my name isn't…isn't…" The thought was so absurd; he couldn't even say it. "My name is Alfred F. Jones. I am America." He pouted through his frustration, as though that was the only rebuttal necessary. It was certainly the only one he could manage at the moment.

"Calm down, Alfred. Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it that way at all."

"Then you better tell me what you meant. Right. Now!" His head was spinning. His grip on the antique table—a gift from England when he was still a colony, along with the chairs in which he and his boss were sitting—could result in splintering at any moment, and he didn't want that, so he bit his lip instead. He hadn't yelled at one of his bosses since Nixon. "What is an 'American name' anyway?!" He could taste blood on his tongue.

"America." The President wisely decided not to use his human name in an attempt to placate the young nation. "America, please calm down." He held his hands held up in a gesture of peace. "Forget about what I just said, then. Okay?"

"Yeah? Right." Alfred looked at him through narrowed eyes, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

His boss gave him a warm smile and pushed toward him a plate piled high with cookies. "I really am sorry, America."

America fought the smile that pulled on his lips at the smell of warm chocolate and took a couple.

The president's smile widened. "Good. Much better then."

He nibbled at the cookie and waited.

"So, who gave you your human name?" He pressed again.

"Uh…"He was prepared for that. "Well, England did, I guess. Is that why you asked?" He became suspicious again. "Is something wrong with that? Why?"

"I'm curious. 'Alfred' isn't one of the most common names in America, is it?"

"Uh, I guess not?" America still didn't care much for the conversation; it made him feel increasingly uncomfortable, but he let it play out, figuring the subject would drop on its own when his boss's curiosity faded. Still, where the subject originated was anyone's guess. He remained quiet, hoping the inevitable subject change would come sooner rather than later, and scratched the back of his neck for something to do during the awkward silence.

"But, why?"

America blinked. This was ridiculous. He couldn't win.


	2. Chapter 2

**I want to start out by thanking everyone who gifted me with reviews, favourites and included me on their follow list. I'm thrilled! All of you are wonderful.**

**I do not own Hetalia or the characters.**

**NOTE: This chapter has been edited and content has been...adjusted, but you'd miss it if you blink. My beta reading and I both agreed that I forgot to include enough about America's existing relationship with England.  
**

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**Chapter 2**

What was all questioning of his name anyway? Sometimes, he got a lot of grief from the countries in the combined American continents, and he wondered why the Founding Fathers had used "America" in the first place. He lost count the number of times he questioned that decision. If having to suffer through a bad economy and polarized politics weren't bad enough, he was questioning his very name! How pathetic was that? Although, he couldn't remember having any other name.

Why couldn't people just leave him alone and not make him worry about all the complicated stuff? Just give him the sciences to play with and leave the logic for people with too much time on their hands—not that he couldn't think through stuff on his own.

America's boss had opened his mouth to say something else when a tentative knock came at the door.

"Do you mind?" he asked.

How big of him since he had just repeatedly insulted him. He nodded his consent and sat back again, letting loose a sigh of relief at the welcomed break. "Go ahead, but this discussion isn't over."

His boss merely nodded. "Come in."

The door burst open and in ran the man's four children, all of them dashing straight to Alfred. "Yay! Hello Alfred!" They cried out, three sets of arms twirling around his legs, and another settling loosely around his shoulders.

"Hey!" He grinned, and picked up the smallest child, who was around two years old, and started ticking her. "What's up? Did ya come to see the hero?"

"Yep!" A chorus of young voices rang out through the room. He laughed.

"You didn't come to see your ol' dad?" His boss struggled with a feigned frown that turned into laughter.

"Did you ask him, Daddy?" One of the children called out from the floor between America's knees, this one newly six years old. She had the cutest curly blond hair Alfred ever saw.

"Yeah, Alfred's such a funny name," said a little boy, of seven years, clutching him around his left knee.

America's eyebrows rose to a comedic height, and failed in his attempt to conceal his—manly—squeak.

"You can't tell someone their name sounds funny." The girl behind him berated her brother; she was twelve. "I think you have a very nice name Alfred." Always so serious that one. She petted his hair; okay, maybe she wasn't all that serious. He suspected she had a crush on him, and wondered if her father had told her that he was her country. Literally.

"What's with all this hating on the hero's name, huh?" He laughed, attempting to make light of their conversation. He did not want his boss's children to know it bothered him. It was nice to know the true intentions of the inquiry, though.

"I'm not hating on your name, Alfie. I like it." The oldest girl stated with cool, self-assurance.

"Yay for Alexa!" He brought an arm up and around to give her a quick hug. "Your papa and I were just talkin' about it."

"Oh, so he asked you?" the six-year-old, Gabriela, spoke up again.

"He asked me about why I had such an unusual name."

"That's not what he was supposed to ask!?" the little boy exclaimed.

"Well, Cisco, what is it, then? Or I'll have to pass little Mía off to you to hold? But that would be punishment for me too, because she's so cute!" He tickled the little girl's stomach to emphasize his point.

"No!" he yelled and retreated, plopping himself on the floor, making Alfred chuckle. The girls all loved him, and held him tighter, joining in with laughter.

Little Mía giggled. "Afwed da gweat!"

"What?" He started at the little girl on his arms, and then over to his boss to get some clarification. "The hero is great?" He wasn't sure he believed that himself.

"Of course, Alfred is great! He plays with us!" Gabriela chimed in.

Alexa sighed behind him. "That's not what I meant."

"Awe, the hero, isn't great after all?" He made a show of pouting. The land of the free and the home of the brave really did wonder about that, sometimes. He didn't feel so very great anymore. He had been down on himself, and disappointed in his people, for a couple decades—one of the reasons he wasn't looking forward to another World Meeting or the prospect of sharing a suite with another nation. How 'united' were his states these days? With his chronic headaches, he really couldn't say one way or another. Was he worthy of being called great right now?

Alexa sighed again. "You were, like, named after a hero. Or, at least, that's what I think. The history book said he was a hero." She blushed. "I wanted Papa to ask you what it felt like to share a name with 'Alfred the Great'. I am studying about him in school right now. I asked him at breakfast this morning, if he could. He didn't really answer me, though."

The president avoided his gaze.

"Oh, he didn't?"

America swallowed hard, giving him a tense stare, keeping his own apprehension to himself. "Well, Alex, I think he was going to do that just before you came in."

"Oh good!" she exclaimed eagerly. "How do feel about it?" The words came as a rush.

"Well, I don't know. I'll have to think about it and get back with ya?" How long could he stall for time? He had heard the name and some history behind it sometime or other, but couldn't recall the source or the story. And, it bothered him. What to do? What to do? Distraction! "Hey, how we go out and watch some fireworks!?"

All the children exclaimed, Francisco leapt off the floor and pumped his fist in the air. "Yay!"

"How about it, Boss?"

"Sure Alfred, I suppose we're done here. Go have fun."

"Yes!" He gave a cheer of his own.

"Incidentally, Alfred, you'll also be rooming with, ahem, representative from the UK."

"Thanks Boss." He grinned. That was quite a relief—with England he could relax., forget about everything for a while. He had dearly missed England the passed few weeks, month, months? Suddenly he couldn't even remember the last time he got away from the White House. "Arthur's not so bad. At least it's not Francis, right?" he chuckled and gave a humorless smile. He rose from the chair and moved toward the door in awkward, stunted steps. The girls still clung to various parts of his body: Alex at his left arm, Gabby clutching his right leg, and Mía in his arms hanging onto his neck, nice and cozy. Cisco had run ahead of them out through a pair of French doors that lead into the gardens. "Hero and his sidekicks away!"

Fireworks, brass bands, and hotdogs made him feel just as much like a child as the company running along with him out into the White House lawn. It was just what he needed. These little ones were the future. And, they would get to spend their childhood with their country. They were awesome little people. Maybe there was hope, yet. Maybe he could go all round the country to all the schools in all the states and give them hope too.

They ran and skipped and danced and flew—the children in Alfred's strong arms—across the grass, underneath the bright flashes of colors above them. Soon he was lost in their amusement—his childlike mannerisms ever-present, despite his usual attempts to quell his them to do his job. He was so at ease around children. They were all so easy to impress that he didn't even need to impress them. With the prospect of fireworks and hotdogs, Alfred let all thoughts of the uncomfortable meeting and questioning slip to an empty spot in the back of his mind.

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**Notes**

In that last scene the fireworks display was a reference to the fireworks that the Washington Nationals Friday firework displays. At one point in the writing, this scene originally took place on the 4th of July.

I don't think I'm going to use so many human OC's in a fic of this size ever again. Maybe a longer one...

I would love more reviews! Thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

**More edits with this chapter than the previous one, though most of them very small ones. They're just scattered a little more than those in chapter 2. **

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**Chapter 3**

England huffed, checked his watch for the fifth time in ten minutes, and glared out into the expanse of the baggage claim area. He begrudged the very existence of the place, vowing to put a curse on it.

He only wanted to relax and mentally prepare himself for the preliminary gathering of the World Meeting the next morning. He used the wait to reflect on his day, which had dragged on without break. Thankfully, he had finished all the pile of sodding paper work that some nitwit assistant of an assistant had let slide far too long, though he had to work through lunch to complete it. The paperwork, delivered for his perusal that morning, was due to the Prime Minister that afternoon. It had seemed at least a meter high. You just could not get decent help these days. Ridiculous! He could remember when nations had no paperwork at all.

Then there was the room sharing nonsense. Right stupid idea it was. However, for all that, at least they allowed him to stay at home and not in some rubbish hotel suite where he couldn't get a decent cup of tea. And, of all nations, at least it was America. His dear Alfred would merely drive him slightly insane instead of completely miserable.

England finally found a bench in the waiting area of the luggage claim at Heathrow Airport, grumbling to himself. What did America do this time? Take the wrong plane? Get lost in the airport? Their bosses had arranged for them to meet at the airport and continue on to England's home. America phoned him just before the last boarding call. The Great Disappointment had not so much as called him when he disembarked the sodding plane. Inconsiderate lout.

He double-checked the note that listed America's flight number and terminal. Yes, he was in the correct baggage claim area.

He would get his fill of America during the meeting, though it had been far too long since he had spent any quality time with Alfred. Deep down in a place he occasionally acknowledged, he was glad he went to the trouble of bribing Germany to fix the room assignment lottery. Alfred was boisterous and loud and uncouth. Who wanted that prat hanging about anyway? No one else but Arthur.

His thoughts came to an abrupt standstill as a pair of large hands clamped over his eyes. He gave a manly yelp.

The owner of the offending hands hummed. "Guess who?" Alfred asked.

"Alfred! Unhand me, wanker!" England slumped down against to bench to extricate himself from the strong grip. He wheeled around and glared. Ah, yes, this was why he had hesitations.

America held his stomach in a fit of laughter. "You should have seen the look on your face. Priceless!"

"Put a sock in it, git. Let's go." Arthur turned away from the younger nation and started toward the exit, not checking to see if he followed.

"I couldn't help myself."

"You shouldn't do such inappropriate things in public places. I raised you better than that! What are you, a child?"

America 's expression sobered, seemingly affronted by the comparison. "Sorry, Arthur. Does that mean I can do stuff like that in private?"

But such the glum expression would, as usual, only last so long on Alfred. Arthur didn't look over, but he could just sense the familiar mischievous smirk creep back on Alfred's face. Such a child, indeed. "Of course not." He dug his keys out of his pocket. "Whatever took you so long? Your fight wasn't delayed. I checked."

"Yes, I'm sure you did. What? About a dozen times?"

"Wh-what? No!" England had checked the flight schedule ten times, but America didn't need to know that.

"Hey, Arthur, can I drive?" America whined.

"The question is, 'may I drive?' And, the answer is abso- bloody-lutely not." He sighed. "Now, please, just be quiet, poppet. I've had a long day."

"And, I've been on a plane for several hours. Before that, I spent the last couple days with my boss's kids. They're great and all, but I'm tired. And that was on top of all my normal work, and doing last minute stuff on my presentation, which is gonna be great!"

"Oh, my apologies, then." England remembered the exhaustion of keeping up with young children—young colonies— and the work of an empire. He could empathize. It was a pity that America's boss used him as a babysitter without him realizing the truth of the situation. He glanced over; America stared at him, wide-eyed. "You were late meeting with me. What kept you?" He repeated, glaring over the top of his Mini-Cooper, the British racing green adding to the ire reflected in his emerald eyes. "Well?"

"Helping a mother with her kids get their luggage down from an overhead compartment? Uh, no that didn't take too long. I stopped to get a burger. Don't look at me like that! I was hungry! Didn't eat on the plane."

England gave an exasperated sigh. "Oh, fine. Just put your bags in the back and get in. I would have fed you, you know. I still will."

"Yeah, I know. But it wouldn't have been hamburgers. I was really hungry." America tossed his luggage in the back and plopped down in the passenger seat eyeing the car's custom array of buttons and switches. America sighed, his attention drawn toward the centre instrument panel. England ignored him and started the car.

England watched as his hand strayed over a small red button. Curiosity finally got the best of him; he pressed it. America yelped when the passenger seat jolted upward, smacking his head against the roof of the car. England chortled.

"What the hell, Eyebrows?"

"Don't mock me, git," England tried to sound annoyed through his laughter.

"Come on, dude, seriously?" America pouted, rubbing the tender spot on his head, looking pathetically endearing.

"You should have seen the look on your face. I couldn't help myself," he echoed America's words. Perhaps he seemed a little too much like a kicked puppy. "Hmm, I really am sorry, love. Don't pout at me like that. You are the over-curious sod with an attraction to red buttons that just scream 'Don't push me!'"

"Fine. But, you didn't have to install the stupid jolt seat in the first place," he stuttered.

"He glad couldn't install an ejection seat in a car that's not a convertible."

America scowled. Well, at least something kept him from fiddling with the instrument panel.

Arthur slipped a hand over toward Alfred's and gave it a gentle pat, but retracted it quickly. "Ahem...I have some water for you. There," he pointed to the compartment between them. "And, I bought you some coffee for the mornings. The guest room is all set for you." A sleeping America was a quiet America, which would give England some peace and quiet. And, in the mornings a caffeinated America—although a bit hyper—was better than an unresponsive, lethargic one.

"'Kay," America muttered and leaned back into the leather seat; his eyes flickered closed. "Hm, 'm tired."

By the time England reached the open road, America succumbed to his jetlag. He looked so pleasant when sleeping. England smirked, nudging the accelerator a bit more than he would usually, and let his hand wander over to pet the younger man's thigh. Oh, if America could see the scenery flying by them, he would never believe it. He backed away from the high speed, and reluctantly returned his hand to the steering column when he heard murmurs coming from his passenger. He never would.

"Alfred," England patted the American's shoulder. "Wake up, poppet."

"Huh?" The other nation blinked, rubbing the back of his hand over his face. "Here already? Must have been more tired than I thought."

"It's fine, love. Time to get out. You can go to bed after dinner."

America looked up, his brow furrowed, realizing where they were. "Wait. I'm staying with you at your house?"

"Well, of course, don't be thick." Did Alfred really think he'd treat him like any other nation?

"England? I don't understand. I thought we were staying in the hotel."

"Surely they told you...Look, Alfred, I will not stay at a hotel in my own city when my home will suffice. Thank you very much."

"Well, that's fine, I guess. My boss just didn't say anything about it. I only found out I was rooming— Staying with you two days ago."

"He was supposed to have told you last month, but no matter." England kept his face neutral, not wishing to show his alarm and dismay. What else did his boss not tell him? The nation's leaders had that list four months ago.

Alfred grabbed his luggage from the back-seat, his pace a bit slow. He smiled and his eyes were bright. Arthur swore, in that moment, Alfred looked both younger than he had in years and more careworn. Almost like the confused little boy he met all those years ago. The sparkle in his eye lied. Or was there something weighing on his mind? He often trod a step or two ahead of England in his enthusiasm, even on a bad day. Now, he was half a pace behind, and his shoulders drooped.

All of a sudden, England felt quite badly about fussing and playing with him in the car the way he did. It was unnecessary. Clearly, he didn't apologize enough for the little slights. America's reaction to his apology made that painfully obvious. Bickering and sniping at each other, is that what their 'special relationship' had come to represent? He hoped not. England had treated America worse, at times, while he was a colony—and worlds better at the same time. Releasing America was not the worst thing that had happened to the British Empire. Losing Alfred was the worst that happened to Arthur, and he had endured a lot in his existence. He was glad t have him back—or, at least, his companionship.

"Arthur?" Alfred tapped him on the shoulder; he swatted the hand away in reflex. "Come on. Are you going to open the door or just stare at it?" America's stomach chose that moment to grumble—insatiable appetite. He looked away, embarrassed. Curious.

"Yes, yes, you're hungry." He turned the key in the lock and let them in. "Off with your shoes, Alfred! Go ahead, take your bags up to the guest room, and clean yourself up. I'll have everything ready by the time you're downstairs again."

"Great!" There was that word again—was that his latest replacement for 'awesome' and 'cool'? England was not keen on that word. "Hey, Arthur, what's in the bag?"

"Ah," he smiled. "That would be our dinner. It's not hamburgers, I'm afraid. I stopped by my usual pub and got some fish and chips."

"That's great. Thanks, Arthur." He nodded, and shuffled his way upstairs without another word.

And curiouser.

England gaped and stared up the stairs after the younger nation was well out of sight, unable to move. Was the boy unwell? What kind of strange, twisted reality had he stepped through when they left the airport? He didn't even protest about the lack of hamburgers. He didn't question the usual nagging. This was going to be an interesting evening. England remained frozen, a temporary entryway statue, until he heard the opening and closing of drawers.

Alfred's behaviour inside the airport was feigned. Perhaps it had been automatic? England couldn't recognize the signs of any illness. What was the matter? What was America's boss doing to him?


	4. Chapter 4

**So, I've made some changes to this chapter as well. Same reason as stated in chapter 2.  
**

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**Chapter 4**

It took Alfred over twenty minutes to make his way back downstairs. Dinner was set on the table, and Arthur had some scones baking in the oven, but America said nothing. Nothing at all. He sat down at the kitchen table, and stared out the window in silence. His gaze, shifting and unsettled, wandered back and forth between England and the garden, in perpetual conflict. He had opened his mouth several times to say something, but always returned to the ever-darkening horizon outside the window (stormy, just like expression that marred his wide blue eyes). England desperately wanted to shake him out of his stupor. To throw his arms around him and...now was not the time for that.

"Let's eat before it gets colder."

America merely nodded.

They ate in companionable silence, but a silent America was alarming. Neither looked up from their plates, nor did they exchange any of their typical heated, playful scoffing at having to occupy the same space, even though England knew both of them enjoyed each other's company. During the meal, the tension eased around Alfred's eyes. Eventually, a wistful smile ghosted across his face, but did not reach his eyes.

Halfway through their meal a waif of smoke dispelled the calm.

"My scones!" England nearly toppled his chair in his dash to the oven. "Fuck," England muttered, waving a towel over the scorched scones. "They're ruined."

"Understatement of the year," America coughed.

The first thing he says was snarky. Lovely. England huffed, and glared across the kitchen. "No need to get cheeky. Besides, I think I can salvage a few."

"Even if you manage that, I'm not eating them. You can keep your cooking to yourself, Arthur." The same flippant comments, delivered with the usual sarcasm, but without the glowing smile. There was just something empty in bantering this way.

"Suit yourself." Arthur abandoned his latest ill-fated attempt at baking and returned to the table. During the rest of the meal, he fought the urge to charge up from his seat and demand to know what was the bothering him. He almost screamed when Alfred finished and set his silverware along the side of the plate with barely a clink. He always clinked and clanked the cutlery. England found that he missed berating the younger nation about his table manners.

Alfred wasn't staring at his plate or the table anymore, and he would consider that a vast improvement, but those intense blue eyes bore into Arthur instead. They probed with the same caution, doubt and scrutiny that America used to peer at Russia in the midst of the Cold War. England couldn't stand that kind of cold consideration from someone so dear to him.

"What is it?" England growled.

America shook his head.

"There's obviously something. Out with it or stop staring at me."

America shrugged, and glanced back down again.

England's scowl deepened; this was infuriating. "Alfred! Look at me," he hissed—angry and hurt at the continued silence.

"Geez, make up your mind all ready, Arthur."

He could no longer conceal his frustration. "You will tell me what the bloody hell is the matter with you! Right now! Or so help me!"

The younger nation looked up from the table as though stricken. "A-Arthur?" He swallowed hard. "Th-there's nothing wrong. Can't I just enjoy a quiet meal with you?"

A quiet meal? What kind of nonsense was he babbling about? "You have never had a quiet meal!" England could have kicked himself for saying that aloud.

"Maybe that's the point?" He huffed.

"What?"

"Nevermind. Just calm down and eat. It's okay," America muttered and looked down. ('It's nothing,' he thought he heard America mumble to the kitchen tile, but he wasn't sure.)

"No, what do you mean?"

"Just drop it," he whispered. Oh, he really was being serious. "Don't worry. It's probably just the jetlag anyway."

"What is the matter with you, America?" America would just keep avoiding the problem, and let it fester. He sighed, pushing both of their plates to the side, and took hold of his hands. "Alfred, love, tell me?" His voice dropped to barely a whisper.

"I told you already. I'm always with my boss's kids all the time. While I eat. While I work. Sometimes while I sleep! I've hardly gotten to do anything else in months. Even my video games are collecting dust." He pouted. "On top of that, I worry about my people and Mattie and you and the rest of the world."

"I had no idea you spent that much time with them." No wonder he hadn't seen America between meetings.

"New understatement of the year."

"America, Listen to me. I shall be fine. I'm sure that Canada will as well. You worry about the world far too much. You should really just mind your own business sometimes. We nations can take care of ourselves."

America muttered to himself in a tone that sounded both obdurate and crestfallen, refusing to meet England's eyes.

"I've," England looked to the side, "I've missed you."

"How long has it been since we had time like this? The last world meeting?"

"No. Longer." England looked back at America. "A year and a half. Not a long time for a nation, but still too long."

America sighed as he did when he was young. "'M tired, Engwand."

The younger nation groaned and slumped down until his head fell with a thud against the table. His hands, usually full of power with fingers that continually fidgeted to keep raw strength from crushing something—everything—rested loosely but securely around England's. The grip had changed. This was wrongly, inexplicably familiar. The sudden contradiction between this protective grip and the sudden shaking of those hands startled Arthur. A sniffle came from behind the blond fringe hanging down in front of America's face.

"Stop crying on my table, git."

Alfred lifted his head back up, and wiped his nose on a napkin. Arthur rounded the table and stood in front of him. America wrapped his arms around his midsection, hugging him tightly as he did when he was a young colony.

Sniffling turned into soft laughter. That was more like it. "Sorry Arthur. But this is kinda nice."

"What is? Clinging on to me like a big lummox?" England didn't really mind it, and didn't shift to disentangle himself from the embrace., but held him tighter.

"That and the quiet. Tired of all the nonsense. It's always calmer when it's just the two of us. You're usually pretty quiet, you know? Usually."

"Because you're not. Usually," England chuckled. He refrained from stating explicitly that America was correct in his assessment. They complemented each other so well. Too well.

"Because it's never calm in my country."

"Because you hardly know how to be quiet."

"Yeah, I guess." He shrugged. "My people certainly don't. I always have to compete with their voices in my head. How did you ever put up with me when I was a kid?"

"It wasn't easy, but it was simpler when you were still small and cute. And there were fewer people."

"'M still cute." Alfred glanced up at him, a boyish pout, more reminiscent of a smirk, curled his lips. Much better, indeed.

"Keep trying to convince yourself of that, darling." Arthur bent down and kissed his forehead. "Now release me."

Instead, Alfred stood and ruffled England's hair.

He brushed the hand away. "Cut that out, twat!"

"Sure, sure." America let their foreheads touch, and giggled when England's eyebrows touched his skin. He sighed. again "Tired." His voice low and weary again. "I'm heading to bed early."

"Hm, Very well, Alfred." Strange...the clock in the parlour had only just struck half passed eight a few minutes ago.

America turned and went to leave the kitchen, but stopped, leaning against the doorframe. "Arthur?"

He blinked, waiting. "Yes, Alfred?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"It is, 'May I ask you a question.'" England smirked. "What is it?"

"It's...well...Um."

"Come on. Out with it." America frowned and his mouth wagged open and closed a few times, trying to form the question. "You can ask me anything?" he encouraged.

"W-well-um." He sighed. "Would it be all right if I looked through your library?"

"Well, of course. But, whatever for?" England fought against the shiver that raced down his spine. Alfred wanting a book?

"Oh, just thought I might read myself to sleep or something." Alfred scratched the back of his neck and heaved such a yawn his face looked in danger of splitting. He was lying, but that didn't matter he was welcome to just about anything in his library if it got him to read. "Heh, although, I might not need to."

He raised an eyebrow. "Alfred, are you quite all right?" England had grown tired of asking that.

"You know, you don't have to worry so much about me, Arthur."

"I know. Go to bed, Alfred. I shall be up soon. The Hitchhiker's Guide novels are along the far wall next to the window, but you know that," he said to his back as America turned to wander down the hallway.

* * *

**Notes**

**Thanks again to everyone who reviewed, favorited and follow my story. I really appreciated it. :)**

**Extra thanks to my beta, Jami-Bunny who is getting my writing all straightened up.**

**Sorry that I don't have a regular update schedule for this story. I'm just getting chapters as they are edited.  
**


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry for the long gap between updates. Lots of things happened in RL, and my beta, Jami-bunny and I realized that I had neglected the little detail of America and England's at least semi-established relationship. So, I went back through the previous chapters and did some editing to fix that. If anyone is interested, there are very slight changes made to chapters 2-4. The changes probably aren't too noticeable, unless you know what to look for. It won't negatively affect the reading of the story if you don't go back and re-read those chapters. No worries. It was mostly for my own peace of mind.

I apologize for the heavy OC usage.

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**Chapter 5**

Alfred fell asleep curled up with _Alfred the Great: War, Culture and Kingship in Anglo-Saxon England. _ It wasn't the first he would have chosen, but he tried to resist the children's picture book, "King Alfred: England's Greatest King." It had an interesting cover with a cool looking sword. He ended up taking both to bed with him; perhaps he would ask England if he could borrow the children's book and take it back with him to share with the President's little ones. America's eyes were already heavy, and he was sound asleep seconds after opening the cover of the biography.

"_We didn't start the fire!"_

America grunted; startled out of his near catatonic state by the pounding of drums, home recorded electric guitar and adolescent singer.

"_It's always burning since the world's been turning."_

He sat up in the bed, closing the book that perched in his lap.

"_We didn't start the fire."_

He grappled for his cell phone on the other side of the table to put an end to the familiar chorus.

"_No we didn't light it, but we tried to fight—"_

"Uuuugh? Alexa?" He answered just before it switched to voice-mail, and glanced over at the clock. He groaned before the girl had time to greet him. "Ya know s' ten-thirty 'ere."

"Oh no!" she gasped. "I'm so sorry, Alfred. I forgot."

"We've gone ov'r th' time zones b'fore." He yawned, wiping a hand over his sleep-heavy eyes and leaned back against the headboard.

"I'm sorry," she whined, and he could just picture the pathetic, pleading look on her face, even her lip out and pouting.

"Yeah, yeah, okay." His dismissal of the minor transgression greeted silence. "Alexa," he attempted his 'serious-voice' over the phone. "What is it?" It worked better when he could put on his playful scowl and look at her over the rim of his glasses—that always made her go a little pink in the cheeks out of guilt—or possibly embarrassment. "Come on, Alexa, I'm tired."

"Well, I was doing my homework..."

"Can't your papa help you with that?"

"He said to call you to help me, since you're in England."

"Oh, so your father forgot about the time diff. I see." He'd have to speak to his boss about that instead. Great, just great—and the world thought Alfred was the American idiot. Alexa was lucky he woke up at all after being asleep for an hour already. He glanced over at the bedside table. "You need some information about...that king?" America glanced at the bedroom door.

"Huh? Alfred the Great? Oh no, we finished up with learning about him when Papa brought it up last week. Though, I would totally like to learn more about your namesake!"

"Uh, right. Okay, what is it, then?" He was starting to empathize with England's frustrated attempts to talk during dinner.

"We're studying the Norman Invasion of England now!"

"Shush! Quiet down!" he hissed. Oh, great...America glanced at the door again, fearing England would burst through at just the idea that had been uttered in his home, albeit indirectly and over the phone. To his intense relief, nothing happened.

"Alfie..." He could almost hear Alexa bouncing in her seat.

"I don't know so much about the fine details of England's history, ya know. Buuut," he sighed and shook off the covers, moving toward the edge of the bed, and straightening his glasses on his nose. "I guess I can find a good book for you, since I'm here and all. The friend I'm staying with is a huge history buff."

Alexa gasped, and Alfred knew from experience to pull the phone away from his ear or risk temporary deafness. "Eeeee! That's so cool! Thank you, thank you, thank you! You are so Alfred the Great! You really are a hero!"

"Eh, well, I don't know about that, but...yeah, I'm the hero. Heh heh." And he was just starting to get over Alexa's fervour for her 'great hero.' He wondered how shocked any of the nations would be if he didn't refer to himself as 'the hero' during this week's meetings. It was something when even America started to tire of his own self-proclaimed nickname.

Now he could tell she really was jumping up and down. "I mean, why else would you have that name? Something like that can't just be coincidence, right!" Her words were blending. She was more incorrigible than he was; he was sure more than a dozen nations would consider that impossible. Oh, if they knew. They would probably just laugh and say he was getting his just medicine or getting old or some nonsense like that.

"Tell you what. Since you get so excited about this guy, I'll borrow a book I found from my friend, so you can read it, okay? And, I think I should take our conversation downstairs so I don't disturb his sleep from talking on the phone too loud." Alfred would really have to ask Arthur about borrowing the book now, and he wasn't sure how best to go about doing that. Getting a book about a guy who had his name was just awkward. It sounded a bit narcissistic even for him, but maybe that was just Alexa getting to him. He made his way out of the guest room and wandered back down stairs to the library, trying to get her to tell him what she needed to know for her report on the Norman Conquest of England. He prayed all the while that England wouldn't come and verbally or physically pummel him just for talking about it in his house. He watched the shadows as though he had finished watching the scariest horror movie of all time, which was all of them.

America stopped mid-step in the hallway as he approached England's office and library. The door was ajar, and the hallway glowed a faint orange through the gap. He knew he remembered to turn off the lights and close the door.

He pushed the door open just far enough to step inside. Instrumental music played softly—almost imperceptible above the pops and crack of the fire. England, in cotton plaid pyjamas, sat curled up on an old overstuffed, floral patterned couch by the fire with a book, and a predictable cup of tea.

"Arthur?" America breathed his name, barely loud enough for the other to hear, hoping that he wouldn't startle him. He glanced up and over at America, blinking in astonishment.

"Alfred, what are you doing up?"

"I, uh...well. What are you doing up so late?"

"Once I got in bed, I found I couldn't sleep much, after all. And you?" England frowned at him over the rims of his reading glasses. Yeah, that was where he got 'the look,' except England was a lot better at it than when America played around with his 'fierce' looks to the president's children.

"I'm helping one of my president's kids with their homework. Mind if I borrow a few books to take up and read some passages?"

"You can read them down here just as well, love. You won't be a bother? And, I wouldn't mind your company." England sipped his tea to show his lack of concern.

America wandered his way back to the section of wall that held England's history books, and a few of his personal, war and political diaries.

"Ah, here."

"The one on Alfred the Great?" Alexa's voice brimmed with excitement into the phone, and it almost made America cringe.

"No, the one to read to you for your report." One of them needed to be all business.

"But please read a little about Alfred the Great, first?"

"Absolutely not, Alexa." He glanced at England who looked amused by what he could hear of the one-sided conversation. "You have a new report now. You need to get it done." England now had an eyebrow raised in fascination, though he kept his gaze firmly directed down at his book. America knew he had yet to turn a page since he entered the room.

"Awe, you're being no fun."

"Because you won't let me," Alfred scowled. Arthur chuckled into his teacup.

"Please, Alfred the Great. Please!" He cringed in earnest at the chorus of voices.

"Oh, now you've gotten the little ones teasing me, too?" He heard another chuckle from Arthur, but refused to look at him again. Not yet. He was not amused. "How long have you had me on speaker phone?"

"The whole time, I'm doing my homework. Hard to write and hold a phone."

Alfred reached up and finally grabbed a random book—hopefully—that dealt with the historical period the girl needed.

America heard a sharp intake of breath, and looked over toward England. "Alfred...you're looking through my histories, and you grabbed a diary? W-Why?"

"Alexa has to write a history report." That sudden shimmer in England's eyes didn't bode well. "Uh, Alexa," he cut her off mid-babble. "Could ya just, kinda, wait on the phone a moment? Don't hang up. I'll be right back on." He switched the call to hold.

"One of your citizens is interested in my history?" Oh, now he got him started. Would either of them get back to bed now? "What is she studying?"

He just had to ask. America squirmed. "Uh, well..." Might as well get it over with; it was inevitable now and awaited the thwapping he knew would come. He merely grabbed another book that had its subject matter displayed clearly on the cover. He knew all that was necessary was the year but he couldn't even say that, and he could just see England bristle as the nation glared at the offending tome. America cringed.

"Give me the phone?" England gestured to his cell phone, beckoning him to hurry with his wagging of fingers.

Wait! No thwap? "Huh?"

"She's on the line, isn't she?" He still had his hand extended.

"Yeah, on hold."

"Give it to me now, you twit. I shall speak with her myself. I'll not trust a book to portray accurately such a delicate period of my history. And, no one shall be reading out of my diary. Hand it over, darling."

"Okay, okay. Just let me warn her first. And," he paused, unsure why he was about to give England warning, "just so you know, she has a sort of hero worship complex. She is a history nut and will cling onto your human name. She's a good girl, but extremely excitable."

England didn't respond, just raised one of his huge eyebrows in curiosity, so American resumed the call.

"Hey, Alexa. I've got my, uh friend...Mr. Kirkland here. He wants to talk to you about your assignment."

"Oh my god!" she breathed into the phone, before breaking into a squeal that he was sure Arthur could hear. "You really are a hero, Alfred the Great!" He hoped England did not hear that bit; he had the good sense to put his hand over the speaker.

"Don't overwhelm him, please. He's very fussy and a bit prickly, so I'm going to put the call on speaker." He set to pressing a few buttons.

"I am not, git."

"See what I mean?" he laughed. Alexa giggled.

"Hello Alexa. My name is Arthur Kirkland."

Alfred grabbed the phone back and immediately turned off the speaker. They still heard the squeal and incomprehensible babbling from the excitable girl loudly and clearly. England mouthed his silent 'thank you.' "Is she always like that?" he whispered.

"I warned you." Alfred nodded as he counted the seconds until she would calm down again, and quickly put the call back on speaker.

"You really love history, don't you, Alexa?" Arthur asked.

"Yep! And I was named after Alexander the Great. I'm sure of it!"

"Ah, I see." England rolled his eyes. "Well, poppet, it is getting rather late here. How may I help you with your report?"

"Okay, well," she took a deep breath. "It's on the Norman Conque-"

"You don't actually have to say it." England interrupted her more harshly than he intended. America snickered and received a punch to the shoulder. "I-I mean to say, do you want information on the Battle of Hastings? What led up to the whole wretched debacle? What happened afterwards? Or...it was a very convoluted, confusing time for me—confusing time in my country's history. And, I know more about it than anyone should." Arthur's eyebrows knitted together in a very comical way when he was flustered, and Alfred always found it entertaining; he shot a very pointed glance in the younger nation's direction.

"Well, Arthur, she's only twelve." He smiled, and gave him a playful nudge in the side. "Why don't you tell her like you told me?"

"One moment, please, Alexa." England seized the phone and put the call on hold again. "Alfred, are you serious? You were a young colony when I told you. She doesn't know about nations, does she?"

"Of course not, but that doesn't mean you can't just adjust your telling a bit, right?

"W-well, I suppose." He signed and resumed the call.

"Now, Alexa, you must first understand that this caused a lot of...drastic changes for...my country. It was a rather long and brutal... affair." He visibly shivered with that word. "England is still quite mad for all the rubbish and trouble that was caused."

"Come on, Arthur." Alfred curled up next to him, nudging him in the side again. The gesture met half-hearted resistance that merely helped Arthur situate himself more comfortably between Alfred and the arm of the couch. "Get to the story." America prodded again. A series of cheers resounded from the speaker.

"Is everyone conspiring against me?" England grumbled before sinking back into the crushing hug and began again.

An hour later, their conversation came to an end. The two nations long since needed to give in to sleep and the children on the other side of the Atlantic needed to get their dinner. Alexa said her goodbyes to Arthur with the agreement that she would ask her teacher if a recorded 'interview' with historical authority or a written report on Arthur's historical depiction would be more acceptable.

Tomorrow afternoon, America would ask England if he could borrow a book to take home with him anyway—he didn't trust England's account to be unbiased, but he wouldn't tell him that. Although it was entertaining, watching him dash around the room in one-sided re-enactments of old battles with Francis, and wished that the children could have seen it.

"Alfred the Great...you're my hero," she bubbled. "Can you read to me about the other Alfred the Great? Pleeeease?"

"But, Alexa, it's late," America whined. England, paused at his bedroom door, covered the distance before Alfred realized that he moved, and grabbed the cell phone.

"Duck, I don't know what you asked him, but we have a long meeting tomorrow. Let the man get some sleep. He's tired. I'm tired. Do everyone a favour, calm down, and go and eat your dinner." He gave Alfred a kiss on the cheek, and returned the phone without another word.

"Good night, Alexa." He paused and heard England's bedroom door close behind him. "Wait." He stepped inside his own room. "I'll still bring the book on King Alfred, 'kay?"

"You're the greatest Alfred! I think you were totally named after him. Good night!"

He ended the call after another mumbled 'good night' and slunk back under the covers wondering how exactly he felt about Alexa continuing to compare him to one of England's monarchs...or to any monarch at all. He wasn't too keen on kings and queens.

* * *

Thank you everyone who has already reviewed, followed, added my fic to their favorites, and everyone who has read it!

Again, I'm sorry it took me so long to update with a new chapter. I hope it won't take as long to get the next one edited and out.

I love feedback, constructive criticism, reviews in general.

NOTES

The two books mentioned at the beginning of the chapter really do exist, though I have not actually read them.

The song America has for Alexis's ringtone is her own personal recording of Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start The Fire." This is something that I friend of mine did, and I always thought it was really neat, so I decided to use it in one of my fics!


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

America dashed down the hall in England's wake, his briefcase thumping against his thigh as he ran. "Arthur! Wait!"

"If you woke up at a reasonable time, then we wouldn't be running late!" England did not look back as he breezed through the entrance, forcing America to hold out his arm so the heavy glass door would not knock either of them in the face "Hurry up!" He rushed over toward the elevator at the far side of the conference center's lobby.

America let the door slip from his grasp and dashed toward the elevators. He overtook England and pressed the plastic button just before the other nation could reach for it, grinning at him while they waited to hear the ding of its arrival.

England shouldered past him as the doors opened and smacked the floor number and the close-door buttons without waiting for America to enter behind him. He slipped in anyway, just on his heels, stopping the door with his bulk, chuckling all the while.

America settled into the corner of the elevator behind England and hugged him lightly around his waist. "Calm down, Arthur. We'll still get there on time."

"Just on time! "He elbowed America lightly in the stomach, not much more than a nudge. "I wanted a moment to collect my thoughts."

"Well, take a moment now."

"I will, wanker, if you shut your gob for more than a bloody second." England lowered his briefcase with a huff and slid a folder from its place tucked under his arm.

America remained silent through the ascent to the conference room, releasing England when the elevator stopped, and allowed him to exit first. He grabbed the forgotten briefcase with a smirk, unsure if he noticed, but it was okay that he didn't. The Englishman continued to peruse his notes as they walked the empty hallway. He slowed his pace as he read what must have been a particularly important passage. America let his hand ghost against the other nation's shoulders to direct him along, knowing he wasn't watching where he was walking.

"You're the host country. You could just take a moment and make them wait," he whispered.

"Never." England still did not lift his eyes from the paper in his hands nor did he register the absence of his briefcase.

"Good morning, Miss Kate." America flashed his hero-smile in greeting to the secretary assigned to the reception area of the floor reserved for the nation's meetings during the conference. They also had the floors above and below set aside for their private use during the week. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor woman having to baby-sit them all; she was pretty and gave him a coy little smile and wave in return. They could be a rowdy bunch. He made a mental note to send flowers or chocolates or some such present for her efforts, and hoped she wouldn't think he was like Francis or something.

"Here we are." America nudged the England's shoulders, directing him toward the door, but stopped him before he could reach it.

The sudden change in course brought England to attention. His presentation notes nearly fell to the floor. "Bollocks, I left my briefcase in the elevator."

"Nope! The hero has it right here." He grinned and handed over the briefcase.

England stared, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. "Th-thank you, Alfred."

"Not a problem." America let England collect himself and then opened the door for them both.

There was no need for their rush; they were far from the last to arrive. America noted the absence of Canada, Sweden and Turkey among half a dozen others, and knew that his brother would probably arrive five minutes late, as usual.

England and America settled in at their assigned places. The America's attention was torn between the customary spat between England and France and a fascinating interchange between Seborga and Wy—just short of flirting—with Italy Veneciano and Australia trying to urge on the young micro-nation. The latter group won his attention, so he left the two other nations to their familiar squabble.

"Hey kiddo!" He beckoned the teenager, casting a glance at the two older nations. "Way to compliment the pretty girl on her art. Could you do me a favour?"

The boy frowned at the interruption, but nodded upon seeing the spark in America's eyes.

"I need you to get the receptionist some flowers and tea or coffee or whatever she wants for me. You're a romantic kind of guy, right?" He dug around in his pocket for money. "And Wy here can be your helper! Get some ice cream for yourselves while you're out. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Wy?"She nodded.

"Sí, signore America!" Seborga grinned, and took Wy by the hand.

America stopped the teens before they rushed for the door, still holding Veneciano and Australia's gaze. "If that's okay with the two of you, of course?"

"S'fine with me. Thanks mate! Have fun, Sheila." Australia grinned.

"Grazie, America!" Veneciano flung himself at him, grasping him in a tight hug. He slipped Seborga a little extra money and told him to treat the girl well, and to get her whatever she wanted. "And bring me back some gelato!" he called before they made their escape. "But why, Alfred?" He asked America once they had left.

"It's what a hero does!"

"Oi!" England called out from across the room." America, get to your seat. It is time for the meeting to begin!"

"Yeah, America!" A petulant voice taunted from a corner on the way back to his seat. "Go jump at Jerk-England's every word."

"Sealand," America sighed. Normally, he'd love to play with the boy, but with that tone, he knew the small pseudo-nation only craved the attention. "Here," he reached into his pocket for some more ice cream money, "if you hurry you can catch up to Seborga and Wy and get some ice cream, too."

"No!" Sealand crossed his arms over his chest and stuck out his chin. "I'm staying for the meeting with all the other nations!"

Kids...you never knew what some of them expected. "Sealand...it'd be real fun if you go with Seborga and Wy. Aren't they, your friends?"

"Of course they are, but this is the meeting you are all going to recognize me as a nation!"

"Right," America deadpanned.

"This is a meeting for all nations, and I'm a nation!"

He nudged Sealand in the opposite direction from England, on the farthest side of the room. "Peter, just go find a seat and stay quiet. There's one over by Greece."

England gave America a calculating glance as he slipped into his seat. "Alright, now we may begin. Finally."

Notes

And now we have micro-nations! Yes, this chapter is really short. Sorry about that. It is kind of a set up chapter, and it was made even shorter during editing. Much thanks goes to Jami-Bunny. And, by this point, I hope that I added in just enough details to kinda hint that England and America are in a relationship. Because, the rest of the plot kind of depends on that. Let me know, please.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed and read! I check my stats from time to time. I love to hear from my readers.


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry about the delay in updates. I'm under a lot of stress right now. I had a moment, so I thought I'd update with a new chapter during what's left of Valentine's Day (in my time zone). I had this sitting around for a while. I hope you enjoy it.**

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**Chapter 7**

America flashed England a smile and settled in his seat for the preliminary meeting.

As the host nation, England gave a few words of greeting; a brief presentation on the status of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, as well as a report concerning England only; a review of the previous meetings minutes, which consisted of a myriad of arguments and petty disagreements; and an overview of the week's agenda. America wasn't sure why he bothered with this today, it was only the preliminary meeting; they weren't really going to discuss official business until after lunch. England still had enough dependencies that it would take him a good hour, after which everyone would need a break (England especially so).

The older nation cleared his throat, glancing around the room, his gaze stopping at America; the younger nation realized he had been fidgeting unconsciously and sat still, immersing himself in the sound of the Briton's melodious accent instead.

America's day dreaming proved short-lived. The continued sounds of young voices and the distinctive hiss of a cat—or more than one, he wasn't sure—drew his attention.

"And with the RBS the..." England huffed at the next hiss, and looked back down at his notes. "Oh shit, where was I?" He looked back up and stared down the entire table of the world of nations. "Will someone, please, shut the bloody clatter back there?!"

A few mumbles and a stern reprimand came from a hushed deep voice at the far end of the table. The hissing silenced, but the low murmuring of voices remained a moment longer.

America smiled, wishing to lose himself in the Englishman's voice yet again. "So, England? You were sayin'?"

England cleared his throat and started again. "Ah yes, the Royal Bank of Scotland..." And he was on a roll again.

Alfred decided it was much easier to tolerate and pay attention to the meetings with England as the officiating nation. He released a fond sigh, hoping no one else heard, and thought he sounded like a teenage girl with the crush. The man could read the phone book. Arthur's voice was so alluring and beautiful and captivating and...and...

Another distressed _meow_ soon disturbed his entertaining realization, preventing him from finishing the ABC's of Arthur's voice. If England heard it, he chose not to miss another beat in his speech. America felt something rub up against the backs of his ankles. He froze, feeling the tiny hairs at the back of his neck prickle. A light meow sounded from under his seat and something shuffled against the carpet; he fought the urge to bend down underneath the table and investigate. Small fingers brushed the cuffs of his trousers and two sets of small arms withdrew the cat from under his chair. A shiver ran down his spine, and a sinking feeling built in the pit of his stomach. The shuffling retreated to the opposite end of the table.

Cats. Young Boys. Trouble! He knew trouble. He couldn't even escape the antics of children across the ocean at a world meeting? He had to remind himself not to shout out a reprimand at Cisco—especially since he wasn't there. This was tiring. What was Sealand doing? And, his co-instigator, whoever was, should be old enough to know better. He remembered being young, and just thinking that made him feel old. That was just a couple of centuries ago! He wasn't old! And, he played with the president's children every day for crying out loud. But, over the past year and half, the appropriate time for fun and games had been firmly instilled into his brain. Although, he occasionally—unintentionally—pushed boundaries for the sake of fun. But, this was freaking him out.

At another low meow, England flinched.

"I swear it sounds like the bloody Frog singing in the shower!"

"Artie, how do you know what France sounds like in the shower?"

"You have been spying on me in the shower, Angleterre?"

"No! Sod off, wanker! That is beside the point!"

Germany interceded before England completely forgot that he was in charge of the meeting.

They quieted when the cats did. America glanced down at the end of the table. Turkey was lecturing a small olive-skinned boy, who looked very much like him, but added a secret encouraging pat on the back. Great.

The meeting proceeded smoothly again. For all of five minutes. A small mop of blond hair popped up long enough to dart out after something and pull it back under the table with him as it released a very pronounced, agonizing screech that could curdle blood or wake the dead. More hissing and giggling nearly made him leap onto his chair. They sounded liked the ghosts and zombies in his horror flicks. It was ridiculous!

"Hey now?" Greece roused himself from snoring to acutely aware of his surroundings in less than five seconds. A record. "My poor kitties!"

England stared down the table, a small vein popped out just above the expanse of his eyebrows. "Peter!? What is the meaning of this? You will exit the room immediately."

"No! I am a nation. I have every right to be here. You have to recognize me as one now, Jerk England!" Sealand then made the fool decision to charge the podium.

Despite the display in front of him, he still heard the tittering of laughter and meowing from the far end of the room.

"Right!" Another young voice joined the argument, the Turkey look-alike. "I told Sealand that I'd recognize him as a nation if he helped me torment Greece's cats!" The boy's eyes widened in dismay at his outburst, and he threw his hands over mouth.

"You did what?!" England shrieked at the boy. "That kind of agreement is invalid, Peter."

"Turkey, you need to keep a sharper eye on Northern Cyprus! I will not have him aggravating my cats!" Greece groused.

"I wholeheartedly agree! How could you go along with a thing like that, Peter?"

"You need to leave your cats at home, Greece!"

"I will be recognized as a nation. I'll do whatever I have to!"

"Greece, you stop yelling at Turkey!" The younger Mediterranean stared up at Greece, and still managing to find and pull the tail of one of his cats. The cat screeched, and took off behind a potted plant.

"Oh poor kitty!" Greece took off after his cat, crouching in the corner, trying to coax it out from behind the large fern, disturbing the slumber of the other five strays settled on or around him; they all took off in different directions.

"Ugh! I can't deal with this anymore!" America took off after both the young troublemakers, leaping over the table. The World—the World Meeting—needed a hero!

The other nations erupted into fits of laughter and rage, and pandemonium spread across the conference room.

"Korea claims China's breasts!"

"Aiyah!"

"Hey, Korea!" America yelled at the young Asian nation as he pulled Sealand away from England. "Cats wrangling originated in Korea, right? Go get 'em, tiger!"

His face lit up, and he went dashing around the room. "I'm on it, da-ze!"

"Step back, Arthur. I've got him." America finally wrestled Sealand's arms from around England's neck, and flung the young sea fort over one shoulder like a wriggling sack of potatoes. "Can it! You just blew your chance for recognition this meeting, little dude." He ignored the boy's protests and hardly felt the blows on his back and chest from flailing arms and legs.

He darted across the room and scooped up Northern Cyprus, head over heels, as the boy chased after one of the last remaining startled cats, securing him with his other arm. "I'll just be getting this little one out of your hair for a while, Turkey."

The Turk merely nodded and stared at him wide-eyed.

"Cats are all taken care of, America! Greece let me take them out to the lobby." South Korea yelled over the various shouting matches.

"Excellent! Im Yong Soo, that's awesome! Come with me. I'm really sorry to take you from the meeting, but could you stay with these two for a bit? Or ask Kate to look out for them. I'll take notes for ya!"

"Thanks, America!" Korea opened the door while the blond nation juggled the two young boys in his arms. "Though, I'm sure I can get them from Japan!"

"Right..." He probably meant seizing them through coercion. America deposited the two boys on bench just across from the receptionist's desk, and gestured for Korea to sit in a neighboring chair. They scowled at him, but he returned their disdain with his heroic smile, as though he did this every day of the week. He did. "Okay boys, I know that you know how I act in those meetings. How a lot of us older nations act. Though I'm not all that old. Haha!" He paused. "Heh...Sure we pick on each other and fuss a lot and stuff, but you can't just act like that. You understand what I'm sayin'?" He cast his eyes over toward Korea as well.

The three exchanged glances and nodded slowly as though in disbelief that America –the least likely of the nations—was giving them this speech.

"Okay. Cause you can't do that. That's more than petty bickering. Or flirting. That's...well, ya know some nations have started wars over less? Right? And, I know that you can do better than all us old guys, right? Haha!"

Sealand regarded America with half-lidded eyes of suspicion. "Are you recognizing me as a nation, then?"

"Not saying that one way or another. I'm just saying you're not going about it the right way if that's what you really want, okay little dude? You understand?"

"Ahem." America heard a purposeful cough over the noise still pouring from the meeting room.

"Right!" America started back toward the door. "Sit tight, guys! We'll probably take a break pretty soon."

"Very impressive, Alfred." England hummed, eyebrows raised, holding the door open for his former colony.

"America is just a child himself. How can he handle young nations like that?" America could not identify the voice or accent amid the chaos, as he was still outside the door. He was no longer a child, but no matter.

"I heard that! I've had colonies and territories. My states have personifications!"

Only England heard him, and he smirked.

A few more grumbles followed as he entered the room. He did just fine with his president's children.

Alfred strode up toward the podium. Germany seemed to be tending to a few scratches along Veneciano's arms. It was time to stop the yakking and get the meeting back to order.

"Okay, okay, the hero, Alfred the Great, has the problem with the kiddos all straightened out now!"

Silence attacked the room.

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**Thank you everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, and is following my story. **

**Responses to my anonymous reviewers, because I like responding to my reviews:**

**To J: I didn't want to portray any known president past or present in this particular story. So, sorry, no Obama. I didn't give the President a name on purpose, just his children, which I know kind of regret putting in as well. But, the way my plot runs, I'm not sure how I could have written it otherwise-maybe just using one of them. No idea. But, it is the way it is. I hope that it didn't offend you too much.**

**To mofalle: I'm really glad you like it. Sometimes, I think to work the most on the dialogue. I'm glad it came across natural for them. :)**

**I love hearing from my readers, and like all reviews and constructive criticism.**

**Also! Thanks also to my beta, Jami-bunny, who must think I've dropped off the face of the internets or something.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you to everyone who has followed, added this to your favorites and reviewed! I really appreciate the support. It's been a while since I promised a chapter, and I'm sorry for the delay. Life got a bit stressful. I also thank my wonderful beta, Jami Bunny! **

**I don't own Hetalia, I just love the nations so much I can't help but write about them!  
**

**Now without further ado, the next chapter!**

**Chapter 8**

The older nations, instantly rendered speechless, stared at him with cutting, critical alertness. The younger nations followed suit out of sordid curiosity as observers passing a horrible automobile accident or train crash. He was used to derailing meetings. It happened all the time. But…

America cursed his defense mechanism of a hero complex and clammed up at receiving attention for the first time he could remember in his life. Eyes. Everyone's eyes. All on him. For once. All of them were paying attention to him. Why now?

He looked to England for peace amidst the hurricane of quiet white noise. None came. No one even dropped a pen to disrupt the quiet. England also stared at him, which, usually, he wouldn't mind at all. His eyes were wide, but unfocused, and he had gone pale. "What? What did you just say…A-A…America?" he choked out in a whisper so strained it was difficult to hear through the silence.

"The micro-nations are taken care of?" He swallowed hard, and wished he had some of Canada's power of invisibility.

"No, before that." His voice shook; it looked like he was about to cry. He couldn't stand making Arthur cry—not anymore, not for decades, since they got together.

"Alfred…the Great?"

Arthur blanched again and turned away in dismay, probably in rejection, because, dammit, Alfred didn't know what he had done. He had to fix this. How in the hell was he supposed to fix this?

Before he could cross the few feet to atone himself to England, someone screamed, very much like he did during his horror movie marathons, half way across the room—from among the Nordics.

"Oh my god, Norge! Sve! Hide!" Denmark leapt onto Norway's lap, and pulled Sweden in front of him like a shield. Sweden looked none too happy about the arrangement. He clutched Finland protectively to his side.

Finland chuckled at his taller Nordic brethren as a whole, looking over at America with narrowed eyes. "If you're that disturbed, go attack that Alfred." He pointed at America. "Maybe you'll be successful this time around." He muttered into his hand, holding back laughter, the only nation in the room who dared to laugh. "Probably not."

America was too concerned about how he could appease England to pay Finland too much attention. But, clearly this was bigger than Alfred saying something bad that would damage their relationship.

Another hush took over the room, accenting Denmark's snivels onto Norway's shoulder and Norway's paranoid mutterings. All of the Nordics, save Finland, glared daggers at him. Norway whispered something into Denmark's ear; the taller nation didn't seem to like it, but nodded and continued nodding.

The slow mutter of whispers slunk its way up both sides of the table, carried mostly by the European nations, like the lit fuse of a stick of dynamite. He was bombarded by spitfire comments and questions, and he couldn't attend to half of them.

France regarded him with a composed, but very calculated, glare and tilt of his chin. "What is the meaning of that declaration, Amerique?" What did it matter to France?

He couldn't decide if he felt like a shark in a goldfish bowl or a goldfish stuck in an orca tank. A tidal wave was headed his way, he knew it would hit him, he didn't know which direction it would strike, and hoped he would be prepared to swim. Okay, okay…just breathe. Breathe while you have the chance. America hazarded a glance back at England. His mouth wagged like a fish. Oh, god, they were going to have him for dinner, weren't they? He could tell by the way that he kept thinking about food. He pursed his lips. A hamburger would be comforting about now… Definitely not fish. Stop thinking about little fish and big fish! Maybe he could just yell, "Big fish!" and distract everyone so he could make a quick escape?

And, oh no, England was just looking closer to choking or screaming or something equally unpleasant. America just wanted to hug his and England's discomforting feelings away. He had to do something! Anything! Nothing came to his mind. Not a crazy, awesome idea. Not a single witty comment. Not even a mundane notion to talk his way out of the mess.

Veneziano's gasp snapped his attention back to the nations' mutters and whispers. He realized that they were directed back at him now. Yeah, he should have slung England over his shoulder and made a run for it while they were all still stunned.

"Ve… Alfredo the Great?" Veneziano whispered with a vague sense of awe. "I remember hearing about him!"

Israel and Iraq stared, slack jawed and wide-eyed, as did the Baltic nations and Russia.

"That is not awesome, America," Prussia narrowed his red-violet eyes at him. "That is a very serious claim."

"Claim? What?" America's breath caught in his throat. "What claim?"

"An intelligent response," Germany muttered, and then spoke up. "I call a recess." No one paid attention to him, except, perhaps, America, because he agreed wholeheartedly.

Oh no, what claim!? It was just a little slip, wasn't it? Just a little silly thing that he said. He said stupid stuff all the time, what made this one so different? Some lines were obviously crossed. Or stomped on. This was more than a simple slip of a lip and misunderstanding to these nations. America couldn't possibly think of why they would get so outraged. Countries thousands of miles away from England were mad at him. He knew England would be upset with him for tacking 'great' onto his human name, but…half the world?! Those Europeans had a lot of kings and a lot of queens and a lot of 'the Greats.' Didn't they? Ugh! He couldn't keep track!

No fewer than two, maybe three, dozen other nations were staring at him, conversing in a range of shouts and disapproving whispers. He couldn't tell how many, the muttering was just going to take over his brain and drive him stark raving mad.

"Wow, poor England looks totally not awesome." Prussia's voice was devoid of his usual flippancy.

"'Great' is not something you dub yourself, America." England's choked whisper screamed louder than the rest of the European nations. America turned back to face him. Yeah, he knew that was the crux of the issue. Oh, god, and he said his nation name like it was the plague! During the span of their relationship, that was never a good sign.

He desperately fought the jolt of panic, trying to comprehend what had even made him say that or put the appellation in his head in the first place. His mind was blank and swimming upstream through a river of shock. There he was floundering in the water again. "Huh?"

England shook, his eyes clouded over, and he sunk down into the nearest chair.

"Why you… Why did you have say that?" England whispered, not looking at anything. "Why here?" America was sure that he was the only country able to hear the Englishman. "Why do you have to be such an idiot?"

"England?" His voice cracked. He took a step toward him. "I didn't mean… I'm sor—Ah!"

He saw a bright flash of white, red, black, white. The American staggered backward, his hand flying instinctively to his cheek, now throbbing and probably red.

England shook his head, staring with sudden clarity at Denmark's fist, still held high. With his attention on England, America had failed to notice Denmark's astonishing and speedy recovery. Even with his eyes glazed, Denmark reared back, punching him repeatedly, looking at England over the American's shoulder.

With considerable effort, America tore his eyes away from England's withering glower to face his attacker. He ducked. "You bastard! You almost broke my glasses!"

Denmark landed alternating punches to his head and chest. America got a few punches in, but he was already feeling pretty beat up. Denmark didn't seem to be all there. And then, American realized, all that time the Nordics were staring not at him, but at England. Being unable to establish eye contact with his attacker was disturbing enough, but he knew where the Dane was looking and that made it worse.

He didn't care what the other nations thought, he needed to get out of the meeting and talk to England. Now. Alfred couldn't do that until the Dane was off him and got his sights off Arthur.

He got a clear shot at the other nation's stomach, and put some force into it. The man staggered back a step, but just kept punching and chanting his name—his human name—as a mantra with what America could only assume were unsavory Danish curses and insults—battle cries, an army would scream to intimidate their foe. Was he insane?

Denmark's flailing arms gave America few openings to get in his own jabs, so he mostly just hit the Dane's arms. In an act of resignation, America held his arms in front of his face to save his nose and Texas. He didn't want to call on his strength as a superpower to take out a country needlessly. He hoped the other's blue eyes would soon refocus and come back to his senses. That he would just decide to stop. The strategist in the tall Nordic seemed to realize this, and kept using America's hesitation to his advantage.

"Alfred!" America's concentration on his own self-preservation broke; he saw England dashing toward him out of the corner of his eye. "Alfred, watch yourself!"

A feral smirk flashed across Denmark's face; an intimidating sight with his wild hair, and made him look little more than insane. He swung a fist to America's shoulder and another to the forearm that protected his face.

Shit! First rule of fighting: don't take your eyes off your opponent!

America lowered his arms from his face to get in another quick blow with as must strength as he could gather without actually killing him outright as one of the Dane's arms disappeared from his spotty vision. That was okay; he needed the man's arms out of the way to get a clear punch. Both of America's fists barreled into Denmark's abdomen just as the other nation's fists came up and over with a left hook to his temple, socking him with a well-aimed upper cut to the chin.

Denmark flew backward, colliding with England, who had crouched down in preparation for contact, shielding his body by bending over and curling in. America fell straight back into the table—their positions had reversed at some point during the scuffle—and hit his head and arm.

His blackout lasted a split second. England had positioned himself perfectly so the Dane flew over him bodily; he grabbed one of the nation's arms, and landed him flat on his back with a grunt and a crack. England threw himself at Denmark, sitting on the large nation's stomach, and stared at him.

The whisperings and mutterings that spread across the meeting room softened, but remained a hum of background noise.

England slapped Denmark's cheeks a few times before the larger nation regained consciousness. "It looks like an Alfred bested you again. Wake up, you bloody wanker. Norway, why did you send him to do your dirty work? Again?" The Norwegian merely smirked. "It isn't as though America is his reincarnation. The name just turned out to be…eerily fitting."

"You really did, didn't you?" Denmark, just managed a hoarse whisper as the air returned to his lungs. "You named America after…after him!"

"Belt up! I-I…I can always finish you off myself!" England sputtered. England glanced in America's direction—seeing the younger nation still crumpled against the table leg—and gave an agonized gasp. He raised his fist to strike. "You bastard!"

"Arthur?" America staggered to his feet. England couldn't do this, not for him, not right now. "Stop! Arthur, stop!"

America caught his arm, fist inches from Denmark's nose. England looked up at him as he scooped him up under the arms and hauled him to his feet. They were both shaking. "England? Arthur, why?" he whispered. "Why? Why did this blow up?"

"Well, love… I—I…" He gave a brief glance toward the other nations at the table and blushed red to his ears. "Not here." He seized America by his tie and headed to the door, dragging him along with him.

"Ow! Arthur, that hurts!" America tried to grunt out a protest and fought to free his tie from England's vice grip. Limbs caught on limbs and he tripped for a few steps, giving up the struggle of freeing his tie to concentrate on not choking, staying upright and trying to avoid disturbing his injuries.

"I second Germany's motion!" England called as an afterthought, running out the door. They were half-way across the reception area and dashing to the elevator at record speed.

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**With hope, the last two chapters will be out much sooner. **

**Thanks again to all who read this. Please leave a review or even constructive criticism, I love feedback. I hope you still like it; if you do or if you don't, let me know!  
**


	9. Chapter 9

Yay! A new chapter...so soon. Shocking, I know. I hope you like it.

This is the chapter the rating comes in (and the next one). Nothing explicit here folks; I didn't feel it was right for the story or situation. I might be convinced to upload a UKUS (or USUK) story next , I don't know.

Thanks go again to my beta, Jami-bunny.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. I just love it a lot.

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Silence accompanied their return to England's house. He had refused to look at America after he hauled him bodily out of the meeting room. And America didn't dare break the silence for fear of the fire he had seen burning in those electric green eyes while England watched Denmark taking potshots at his boyfriend. Anger. Ferocity. Protectiveness. Recollection. Admiration. Pride? No. He didn't know. He couldn't tell.

America drove with no complaints despite his puffy left eye, sore muscles, and aching head. If he wasn't a nation, he wouldn't be driving with a concussion. Arthur looked possessed; he looked at Alfred as though America was possessed. His mouth set in a flat, expressionless line; his eyes wide and nearly unblinking. His face was still splotchy red.

Alfred even accepted Arthur's offer of tea (he didn't want to be insensitive to the closest thing he had to family other than Matthew) and, after the events of the meeting, their relationship seemed even more valuable than it ever had before. Whatever anyone thought of him, he wasn't ungrateful. He didn't say anything about it, unwilling to risk further angering him. He didn't say anything at all. He hadn't looked at him since they got in the car. They settled down with their tea in the library. Alfred carried the teapot and cups (even though his arms still ached), afraid Arthur would start shaking again. Alfred didn't always choose to read the atmosphere, but he could always read Arthur. Why, he could tease him so consistently and thoroughly and how he knew to leave the cat in the bag.

He wasn't prepared when Arthur finally broke their hour-long silence. He turned around and slapped Alfred on his unbruised cheek. "Why did you have to go and say that in the middle of a blasted world meeting, Alfred?"

"Ow! I didn't mean anything by it!"

"I know you didn't. Just like you didn't mean to set the situation up, either."

"What do you mean?"

"That…that is just what I thought!" He whacked Alfred in the back of the head.

"Cut that out, Arthur! My head hurts enough already! What is with you?"

"Why did you have Sealand sit anywhere near that troublemaker Turkey and Northern Cyprus in the first place?"

Alfred huffed. "I didn't think about Northern Cyprus, all right? They were supposed to be several seats away from Greece and his cats anyway. Weren't they?"

"Supposed to be, yes."

"I thought Greece wouldn't mind Sealand playing with his cats. Well, just petting them. Never factored Northern Cyprus into the equation at all. And what does this have to do with Denmark going berserk?"

England hadn't tried to counter his logic, yet. There was hope.

Arthur stared at the books on the far wall. Halfway through his second cup of tea—Alfred was only a few sips into his first one—Arthur sighed, deep and profound, and put down his cup and saucer. Then he laughed. Alfred hadn't heard him laugh like that since he had been a colony. It was genuine and hearty, sunshine peeking out from the clouds on a rainy day.

"England?" He wasn't really making any sense, and it was hard to understand him amid the laughter. "Why?"

"Why what, darling?" His laughter continued in slowing lessening intensity, until he sighed.

America waited for him to go quiet. "Denmark went berserk."

"Yes, yes, he did." Arthur wiped the tears from his eyes. "Norway even asked him to attack."

"Because you named me after your King Alfred?"

"Exactly so."

"Why?"

His eyebrows disappeared under the long unruly hair on his forehead. "D-don't tell me that I'm going to have to—"

"No! No, that's not what I meant!" Good grief, no, Alfred did not want to Arthur to spell it out for him.

"Please, do elucidate."

He moved from an armchair by the fireplace to the large bay window seat beside Arthur. "Why…why did you name me after someone who obviously meant so much to you?"

"Well, I could tell you some profound reason having to do with Alfred the Great…or…or…" He set his teacup down on a side table, and chuckled. Alfred knew that was just his nerves now. "Or I could just admit to it being the first name I thought of when I saw you sling around that buffalo. That was really quite amazing at your age."

"I'm sure you could sling around a buffalo, England." He poked the older man between the ribs.

"Ack! Stop that!" His cheeks reddened, and batted Alfred's hand away. "Well, perhaps I could have or perhaps not. Who knows. Why ever would I do something so undignified?"

"Oh, I don't know… Pirate Captain Kirkland." He poked again. "The Mighty British Empire…owner of a quarter of the World."

"Touché. Anyway. You were…you were so young. So young, but such an extraordinary landmass."

Alfred blushed. "Arthur…" He looked away, moving his gaze jerkily around the room, settling on the rear garden outside the windows. Well, weren't the gardens beautiful this time of year? With a sudden fluid wave of the arm, Arthur yanked the drapery closed and the gardens disappeared from his sight.

Arthur reached over and cupped Alfred's cheek. The other blond resisted the tender gesture, backing up against the pillows, his face still stinging and tender. "The truth is, we are very much alike, you and I," he whispered.

Alfred pulled back farther to better gauge the expression on his face, but he pulled him close again.

"We are…kindred spirits," he continued. "Originally, I wanted to be for you what Alfred the Great was to me. When Alfred came to be king, I think I was close to the age you were when I found you. He named me. I named you."

Alfred made no comment, but nodded so Arthur would continue.

"He helped establish me as a nation. I was, at best, a group of different tribes and smaller nations, often at the mercy of my elder brothers. And the Vikings. And the Normans. And…" He laughed. "You get the idea. And I am sure I don't need to explain to you what happened in the Ninth Century. Denmark gave you a taste of that."

Alfred hummed. Arthur's hand had fallen to Alfred's shoulder, but he slowly brought it back up. He brushed his fingers over the split lip, and then the purpling bruise on his left cheek and temple.

"Ow!" He winced. "Denmark so didn't have to do that."

"You were in the way. He was after me, no doubt, though…probably both of us. Alfred, it isn't your fault I gave you that name."

"I know. I'm the one with the name that drives people berserk. I'm used to driving people berserk."

He smirked, eyes sparkling. "Hm, yes. America by any other name would be just as maddening. You certainly drive me crazy."

Alfred took a deep breath, closed his eyes, something—anything—to keep from getting lost in the green or laughing at the joke. "Yeah, well the feeling is mutual."

"Good. But, Alfred, please…" Arthur's eyes narrowed.

"Yes, Arthur?"

"Don't call yourself 'Alfred the Great' again."

"Okay. It was an accident. But I'm probably going to have to give a little girl a talking to, to keep it out of my head and all. Or, maybe, you could do it for me?" He gave his best puppy dog eyes expression.

"Oh, don't do that!"

"Then don't do that to me!"

"I-I did not!"

"Hey, I had to get that look from somewhere, old man."

England sighed. "I really did see some of myself in you, you know."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes. As someone on whom I could have a positive influence. Someone whose future I could help shape, as Alfred the Great helped to shape mine."

"I thought you just wanted me for tax money and commodities."

"A-Alfred, how could you say that?!"

"Because you did."

"All right, so I did." He gave up their age-old argument, realizing that Alfred was just trying to bait him. "Fine, fine… I'll talk to the girl. Just drop that subject."

"Okay!"

"You are a mighty nation, America. You are my hero perhaps more than even Alfred the Great was. But, please. If you respect me, if you love me, do not call yourself 'Alfred the Great' ever again."

"Done!"

"Because..." his eyes gleamed, "that's my job."

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This is not the end, yet. I have one more chapter after this.

A/N: Yes, the Americas were worth a good bit to the British Empire for tax monies and goods. America's main problem (though not the only one) was that they wanted representation in Parliament, and crazy King George III wouldn't give it to them (his opinion wasn't that of all of Britain, but since he was the king what he said went) and he got himself a war with his colonies that he lost. By George, that was a foolish move, huh?

Please review and let me know what you think! I love hearing from my readers. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed followed this story and added it to their favorites.

There is only one chapter left. I can't believe it! I hope to get that one up just as quickly.

I hope everyone who celebrates as a pleasant Easter and Passover.


	10. Chapter 10

**Well, here's the final chapter! I hope you enjoy it as well; it's rather short. I send a big thank you to all my readers. And, another thanks to my beta Jami-bunny. I really appreciate all the reviews and follows and favorites. This has been my most popular story so far. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

* * *

**Chapter 10**

Arthur let his fingers trace back over the cuts and bruises that marred Alfred's face. Already, the bruises were fading to purples and greens. "I gave Alfred his title of great for my people, you know," he whispered, breath ticking the American's ear. "But you are quite a great nation. Alfred…" He ghosted his lips over the worst of Alfred's bruises, the one on his jaw. "You are no king, but you are still a great Alfred. Not my people's Alfred. You are my Alfred, my hero."

Alfred's breath caught in his throat. "A-Arthur."

The older man kissed his cheek, attending to the other injuries peppering his face. It tickled and Alfred giggled. Hands dropped down to caress his shoulders and then down to his arms. Arthur leaned in to kiss Alfred hard on the mouth, and his hands gripped firm biceps. Pain swelled anew through his upper arms and down into his forearms, sharp and insulting the warm feeling that had built in his stomach.

"Arthur! Ow! Dammit! That hurts!"

England's eyes widened in concern. "I'm so sorry, love."

"I'm still sore there."

"Let me go get something to clean those."

"Yeah, all right."

He leapt from the window seat and dashed out the library doors.

Alfred, curious of the extent of his injuries, shrugged out of his bomber jacket with a wince; he hadn't paid attention to how much it hurt to move his arms. The adrenaline rush from the fight had faded slowly. He felt it now, acute and throbbing. Denmark must have hit a few places on his arms several times in rapid succession and broken the skin, leaving bloodstained dots on his dress shirt.

Or…maybe that was from hitting the table leg? If he had been a human, he would surely have gotten a concussion from the impact. He unbuttoned his shirt slowly, not wanting to discover the extent of the damage to his arms. His knuckles ached. Denmark sure did pack a punch. He had to pause in the middle of pulling off his shirt. Had he been expecting the attack, he would not have amassed half of the injuries on his chest and shoulders. He could feel the tickling itch of healing through his upper body and face, but wouldn't be back to normal until he got a good night's sleep—or two. He swallowed a groan and let his shirt fall off his arms just as Arthur returned.

Arthur stopped in his tracks a few steps away, as Alfred let his shirt fall to the floor. "Bloody hell. You're a mess!"

"Heh, no kidding. Did worse damage to Denmark with the punches I got in. Critical ones. I'm pretty sure I broke ribs."

"Be that as it may, I wish it hadn't happened at all." He sighed and set down a tray as he sat. "Here, take these." Arthur handed him some pills and a glass of water. He moved his fingers along the back of the younger man's skull.

America winced. "I don't think I have a concussion. Just a headache."

"Still, follow my fingers." Alfred rolled his eyes, but did as requested. England waved his hand back and forth, then around America's field of vision. "You seem fine. I'm sorry for the whack I gave you earlier, though you have quite the hard head." Arthur smiled and offered a soft peck on the lips.

Alfred hooked his arms around Arthur's waist and leaned in to increase the pressure on his lips. "Ow! Dammit!" He sighed and flopped back onto the plush cushions of the window seat, putting his hand to his lip.

"I'm sorry." Arthur brushed the hair from the American's forehead. "Relax and I'll take care of you."

He reached over to a small bowl and pulled out a cloth; Alfred closed his eyes, listening to the water trickle back into the bowl as Arthur wrung out the excess. He first blotted at his black eye.

Alfred hissed. "What's in that?!"

"Just a home remedy to take away the sting."

"Well, it stings!"

"Are you acting like a child on purpose?"

"No! But, being taken care of is kinda nice." He pouted. "Just don't poison me with that concoction you mixed up."

"It's not like I cooked, twit. It's just a few herbs. Nothing magical."

"All right."

"Stay still. It will only sting for a moment. I should have warned you."

"'S all right," he whispered, and took Arthur's other hand to stroke his fingertips across his knuckles.

Arthur tended the rest of Alfred's wounds, washing them with water and peppering them with delicate kisses that left him squirming as the he ventured down to the ones on his chest. Alfred grumbled at the pressure applied to his arms. He paid particular attention to the gash on Alfred's left arm. "Where did that come from?"

"Table," he muttered when he saw England's scowl. "I think."

"I knew I didn't like that fall you took. I should have brought plasters with me."

"Just clean it, babe. I'll heal up fine." Alfred took the older man's hand again and kissed his fingers, chuckling when his cheeks pinked.

"I won't be getting anything done if you don't stop that."

"Stop what?" He fanned out Arthur's fingers and kissed each of his fingertips, and then his knuckles.

"Very funny." Arthur wet the cloth again and brushed it over the bruises on his chest. He dipped it back into the water and brought it up to the American's split lip, pressing and holding it there.

Alfred winced and flailed, pushing away the offending cloth. "Owie!" He pouted, and turned away.

"Aw, don't be that way, my dear."

"I hurt all over protecting our honor!"

"True. My apologies." Arthur hummed. "Let me make it up to you."

Alfred settled back into the cushions with a slight wiggle of his hips, tugging him close.

Unprepared for the jostling and firm grip, Arthur pitched to the side and bumped the tray. "Wait, wait." He gathered up the bowl and other supplies and set them on the floor out of the way. "I rang up, oh, what's his name? Your brother. Oh, yes! Canada." He fumbled opening a drawer and started rummaging through it. "I told him not to expect us back at the meeting this afternoon. We won't have to deal with the aftermath today."

"'Kay." Alfred smiled.

"I thought that we could just have a lazy day instead." His voice sounded funny, possibly from the way his body contorted over the side of the window seat.

"Sounds nice." He let his hand rest, motionless, on Arthur's thigh, to feel the man's warmth and make sure he didn't topple over the edge.

"I thought so." Arthur swung his torso back up hauling a blanket along with him. He had unbuttoned his shirt while out of Alfred's line of vision. The American gazed up at him, reached a hand up, and pulled it off his shoulders with a firm slide of fingers over creamy flesh. "Thank you, darling."

Arthur lifted himself up and over to Alfred's other side, careful not to disturb any abrasions or contusions, pulling the blanket over them both as he moved. He settled into the deep, soft cushioning nearest to the window and cuddled up against Alfred's side.

"Mhmm." The America snuggled closer, resting his head on Arthur's arm. "Hey, Artie?"

He heaved a sigh in halfhearted annoyance at the nickname. "Yes, precious?"

He nuzzled his nose against Arthur's neck. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He kissed the top of Alfred's head. "My Alfred the Great."

* * *

**Well, that's all folks! The End. I hope you like it still.**

**I suppose I could have combined this with the previous chapter, but it just didn't seem right, and it was nice to have an even 10 chapters. I'm just a little OCD.**

**Endings are so sad. So, I'll have to start on another story soon, so I can have a new one to work on. I have others to share.**

**Thanks again to everyone who has taken time to read my story, and those who have reviewed. I love your reviews!**


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